


Care and Upkeep

by outlier



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlier/pseuds/outlier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen’s expression is icy cold, and Snow White pulls the blanket up to her chest, seeking elusive solace.</p><p>“Look at you,” the Queen says, venom dripping from her smile. “Do we not give you water to wash? Is it my negligence which has left you so filthy?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care and Upkeep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fourth Annual Femslash Kink Meme on DW. The prompt was: Ravenna/Snow White: oral

The Queen’s expression is icy cold, and Snow White pulls the blanket up to her chest, seeking elusive solace.

“Look at you,” the Queen says, venom dripping from her smile. “Do we not give you water to wash? Is it my negligence which has left you so filthy?”

Snow knows better than to answer. The Queen visits infrequently, which is a blessing. With her beautiful gowns and lifeless eyes, she makes the confines of Snow’s cell seem even smaller and more sordid than usual; with the sharp claws of her temper, she brings a reminder that Snow does not need. There will be no getting out of this cell, no life to be lived happily ever after. Somehow, she has brought this wrath down upon her, and she sees no escape.

“Can you not answer?” the Queen asks sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Snow says reflexively, taking another step away from the Queen. “I do not mean to offend you.”

The Queen seems mollified enough by the statement, but Snow has learned not to trust what she thinks she sees.

“It is easy enough to fix.” The Queen’s voice has gone soft and sweet, and Snow tenses. It’s in the moments when she appears kindest that the Queen can inflect the deepest damage. “Remove your dress.”

Snow gasps. She looks up sharply, hands covering her chest in protective instinct. Beneath her fingers, she feels the worn and ragged fabric of her dress. It makes for poor armor, but she clings to it.

“Do you need help?” the Queen asks, anger edging into her voice. “Should I fetch my brother to lend you his assistance?”

Snow is unable to suppress a shiver. She cannot bring herself to answer with words. Instead, she moves slowly, reaching behind her to loosen her laces. She waits as long as she can, but there are short limits to the Queen’s patience.

Despite its poor state, her dress is heavy as it hits the floor. Beneath, she wears only her shift. The Queen gestures with her finger – the meaning clear – and Snow swallows hard. There will be no respite.

She tries to remain still under the Queen’s assessing gaze, but it is difficult. At the very least, there is no one to witness this latest humiliation. The cell across the corridor is empty, the latest of its former occupants gone a week now.

Though she has seen its display before, Snow has never grown accustomed to the Queen’s power. When the small tub of steaming water appears before her, she gasps and clenches her hands into fists. The Queen laughs, low and dark. Pleased.

“Don’t you wish to be clean?” the Queen asks. Her voice has taken on the lazy tenor of a cat playing with its prey. The wisest course of action is to give her what she wants, but Snow hesitates. She is naked and shivering, all flaws exposed, and the way forward is clear. She will step into the tub and do as the Queen says, and the Queen will watch. The meaning is also clear – there is nothing the Queen cannot have of her.

Yet she stands still.

The Queen’s expression hardens. “So you wish to play games?”

It’s enough to break her resolve. She doesn’t look up as she steps into the tub. It is too small for her to sit, so she remains standing, the water near scalding against her skin.

“Or perhaps you’ve forgotten how.”

To her astonishment, the Queen bows at her feet. A moment later, when she stands again, the illusion is shattered. So close, the Queen looms over her, and Snow sputters as water courses down over her forehead, momentarily blinding her. As she blinks the water clear, the Queen’s form fills her vision. Soapy hands find her face and she’s forced to close her eyes again; she feels more vulnerable than ever.

Snow has vague memories of being bathed as a child. She remembers loving, if perfunctory, touches. Bathing was a task with a clear end, and though her maids would sometimes let her linger in the warm, soapy water, it was not an indulgence.

The Queen’s slick, soapy hands slide over her skin as if it were a caress. Unable to open her eyes, unable to move away, Snow can do little but try to anticipate where the Queen’s touch will fall. Fingers trace over the curve her of shoulder; down the slip of her back; in the hollow between her breasts. They glide over her hipbones and down her thighs, tickling against the backs of her knees.

They slide between her legs and she starts, eyes flying open only long enough for the sting of soap to force her to close them again. She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. The Queen moves easily, fingers slick, in long strokes that leave no skin untouched.

And then they disappear, and Snow sways forward, following a phantom.

Water sluices over her head again, sweeping away the soap left drying on her face. It’s followed by a rough, wet cloth. The Queen uses it indelicately, leaving behind tingling and scraped skin. The look on her face is that of private amusement as she rubs behind Snow’s ears, under her arms, hard across her breasts. Soon, the cloth is between her legs, and this time, Snow can’t hide behind closed eyes. Her gaze is trapped and held by the Queen as the cloth works against her in the same way the Queen’s fingers had previously.

“Isn’t that better?” the Queen murmurs, a smirk on her lips.

With no warning, the cloth falls away. The Queen’s fingers stay.

Snow inhales sharply. Her focus narrows to the place where the Queen rubs tight circles against her, moving as easily as she had when her fingers were slick with soap. Tension tightens every part of her, and she watches helplessly as the Queen licks her lips. Unbidden, her legs spread, water sloshing out of the tub and onto the floor. She wants to push forward as much as she wants to pull away, but in the end she stays immobile but for the gentle rocking of her hips.

“I didn’t think you’d be dirty again so soon,” the Queen says, pulling her fingers free. She brings them to her lips, and Snow watches in fascinated horror as she pulls one into her mouth and licks it clean. A moment later, and Snow finds the Queen’s fingers at her lips. She can taste the tang of her own body as they slide between her lips and over her tongue, and without meaning to do so, she copies the Queen.

“That’s a good girl,” the Queen says, pumping her fingers into Snow’s mouth.

The words barely have time to register before her wet feet hit the stone floor. The Queen’s hands are on her shoulders now, guiding her firmly, and she half walks/half stumbles over to her bed. She’s shoved down onto it, and her wet skin sticks to the thin, scratchy blanket. Instinctively, she moves to rise, but the Queen’s hands have moved to her hips. She’s held down, pulled forward, and, without warning, the Queen is kneeling. She’s sliding her hands down to Snow’s thighs, opening them wide, and leaning forward. Snow doesn’t understand what’s going to happen until it does.

The Queen’s tongue is against her. Her eyes are fixed on Snow’s, as cold as ever, but her tongue is warm and soft. Snow’s fingers dig into her thin mattress. She’s dimly aware of the sound of her own cries echoing through her cell, needy and breathless. She’s never felt anything like this before, hadn’t known it was possible, and she knows it’s not right.

The gathering tension breaks suddenly and she cries out. Pleasure rushes through her, nearly overwhelming, and for a long moment after, she’s insensate.

When she finally gathers the strength to look up, the Queen is towering over her once again. She’s wiping the corner of her mouth absently, and Snow blushes hard and looks away.

The Queen has yet another concession from her.

“I fear I’ve been neglecting you,” the Queen says, her voice sly. “From now on, I think I’ll see to your upkeep personally.”

Snow wishes the feeling winding through her belly was dread.


End file.
